


Never, Once

by Rubynye



Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: M/M, One of My Favorites, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How about it, <em>Chris</em>," Jim goads, "gonna squeeze me and pet me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never, Once

**Author's Note:**

>   
> Acknowledgements: [](http://ninhursag.livejournal.com/profile)[**ninhursag**](http://ninhursag.livejournal.com/) (the picture!), [](http://azephirin.livejournal.com/profile)[**azephirin**](http://azephirin.livejournal.com/) (the cheerleading!), [](http://blcwriter.livejournal.com/profile)[**blcwriter**](http://blcwriter.livejournal.com/) (the prompt!), and of course [](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/profile)[**lomedet**](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/). With special thanks to [](http://calicokat.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://calicokat.livejournal.com/)**calicokat** for a turn of phrase so perfect I had to borrow it.
> 
> Title from Lou Reed's "Walk On the Wild Side"

Pike pauses, his hand a few cm above the doorpad, and gives one more thought to abandoning his shore leave, heading back to the orbital station, and throttling his yeoman. He should've known by the ferocious twinkle in Cusack's wicked eyes that the top-quality room he requested would include such interesting features as professionally willing companionship. When Pike discovered the sentient amenities and roared into his comm, Cusack vouched for this establishment's integrity; Maitresse Kosari insisted her staff are uncoerced, of legal age, and free to draw their accumulated pay and leave at any time, and her certifications don't look faked, at least at a glance.

She _also_ said, steepling her triple-jointed fingers, smiling widely enough for her silver-filigreed canines to gleam against her deep-blue skin, that she'd picked out the perfect 'attendant' for Pike, a fellow Human, and that was all she'd tell him because Cusack had paid her for a surprise. Which is why Pike should go back up to Neptune Station Alpha and put the fear of God and Captain into his yeoman, instead of opening this door. But... "You need a rest and a treat," Cusack said, with an audible eyebrow waggle, and Pike can't deny that he does.

He also can't deny his qualms about imposing himself on someone who's being paid to take an interest in him, but Kosari prided herself on the intelligence of her staff. Maybe whomever she picked will be an entertaining conversationalist. So Pike exhales, braced like he's leading a landing party, and opens the door.

A sweet drift of smoke greets him, the artificial sunlight very bright in the pseudowindows. Pike blinks as the gold-topped sprawl of pink on the plush white sofa resolves into a pale naked young man, Human as promised and probably not more than twenty years old, smoking an herbal stick and returning his stare with studied insouciance.

The presentation's as effective as it is unsubtle, and despite his already dwindling good sense Pike has to grit his jaw to keep it from falling open. The boy's indecently attractive, dark blond hair and thick saturnine brows, swells of firm flesh just starting to fill out a lanky frame, long graceful throat and hands and feet. He takes Pike's measure with one cool sweep of those laser-blue eyes, and a familiarity in their hue, in the sharpness of those cheekbones and the sensual fullness of those lips, pings off a buried memory in the back of Pike's mind, bolstering the hot rush of desire. Already imagining the smoothness of the boy's skin under his palms, those sleek limbs warm and firm against his own, he watches the boy exhale slowly, wreathed in lacy curls of smoke, and has to fold his arms to keep from grabbing him and hauling him close.

The boy's mouth curls sardonically, his chin tipping forward, and he stubs out the smoke-stick and gathers himself up, standing with feet parted and palms braced against sturdy biceps, nothing servile in his manner at all. "So," he says, voice husky tenor, "This is how it is. I don't do piss, scat, or anything that breaks the skin. I leave with the same number of holes I arrived with. My safeword is 'Slartbartifast,' and you untie, uncuff, or unchain me before you leave. Aside of that, I'm yours for the next twelve hours." Pike starts to nod, opening his mouth for introductions, when he blinks and adds, "Oh, and no last names."

Pike completes his nod. "How about first names? Mine is Chris."

The boy rolls one shoulder in a fluid half-shrug, and Pike's mouth actually waters, his back-brain lighting up with cryptic recognition. "You can pet me and squeeze me and call me George if you want," he offers with a wide devastating grin, and Pike needs all his poise to hide the visceral lurch of familiarity, has to firmly remind himself that any resemblance to dead heroes or lost friends is probably just wistful coincidence.

Instead he puts a little steel into his voice and orders, "Your name."

The boy's chin jerks up, his generous lips pressing together for another stubborn moment before he yields, "Jim." Pike swallows hard on the oversized rush of triumph, again and harder when Jim takes the offensive and strides right into his personal space, stopping near enough to share the same air but not touching anywhere. "How about it, _Chris_," he goads, a bare centimeter shorter and a millimeter away, sweet smoke and clean musk tinging Pike's quickening breaths, "gonna squeeze me and pet me?"

Pike opens his mouth, intending to say something inane like 'let's get to know each other better first' right up until his hand lands on the magnetic curve of Jim's shoulder, until Jim's smile softens, his lips infinitely tender and chapped enough to be real.

When Pike crushes their mouths together Jim chuckles before he moans, and Pike drags his thumb over the apple of the boy's throat and growls acceptance of the challenge.

*^*^*^*

  
Beyond this snug room and warm well-stuffed bed there's all of Tritonia Base Two, fifteen hundred people under eight linked domes, not to mention its sister bases. There's Tritonia One, dug into the frozen crust, with the Minor Planet Center and all the distractions people come up with when living in close quarters, and the Andorian colony attached to Tritonia Three, where Pike's Quartermaster Teirde has family. There are EVA suits and ice sleds and Triton's planet-facing far side, where Neptune hangs ultramarine and unmoving in the chill, clear sky. There's an entire moon to see out there, and the rest of the Sol system to be seen from its vantage point.

Instead Pike spends his hours moonside exploring one two-meter-tall Human boy with translucent skin and cool blue eyes, finding in every moment as much to discover as on any new world. Jim seems to be made mostly of sunshine and insolence and laughter; he moves in Pike's grip so eagerly Pike can almost let himself believe the boy's willingness, but always with an arched eyebrow and a wicked chuckle, as if deigning to squirm in Pike's lap. The attitude is as maddening as those big clever hands and sleek hard thighs, as heady as the pillowy-lipped kisses, those lascivious flickers of tongue and brief sharp hints of teeth. Jim's breath hitches when Pike maps the framework of his back with a curving palm and skims fingertips down the ridge of his spine, but recovers his equilibrium before Pike reaches his nape; he gasps with each nip along his throat and pinch to his nipples but rapidly regains his dynamic calm as if nothing Pike does can truly move him.

It shouldn't, but it does, fill Pike with the manic determination to discover what will. He drags Jim's knees over his shoulders, long legs dangling down his back and narrow hips rocking up to meet him as he presses in ungently, but even when Jim can't talk for groaning, even as he's writhing into Pike's thrusts, he gasps a laugh as if to say, 'that's all you've got?' and grips Pike's forearms tightly enough to dent effort-rigid muscles. Pike growls and fucks the boy as if he can pound through that composure, and Jim moans for him, head tipped back and flush welling rosy as an Earthside sunrise, but those blue eyes stay sharp no matter how wide his pupils blow; the boy bares his teeth in a fierce grin and flexes in a maddeningly deliberate ripple, and it's a competition, a race as plasma heat surges up Pike's spine and boils all rational thought out of his brain.

Pike only wins by getting his fingers around the boy's sticky-slick cock and twisting his wrist with the expertise of a career spent steering beautiful things by hand. Jim gasps and stutters, eyes round blue pools of surprise, voice raspy-high as he cries out, and Pike bares his teeth and watches Jim come around him, for him, trembling and glowing, eyes slammed shut, groans spilling from that lush mouth as the boy spatters Pike's hand and slumps into a sweetly trembling puddle. But it's just a handful of racing heartbeats, barely three deep shuddering breaths, until Jim grits his teeth, bangs his heel into Pike's spine as he wraps his legs tighter, and bucks hard enough to drag a broken noise out of Pike. Jim whoops hoarsely and thrashes onwards, hooding his depthless blue eyes, and Pike has resisted exhaustion and pain but he can't hold out against Jim's relentless efforts at his pleasure, coming like it's being torn from deep in his guts, in wrenching explosive pulses.

Jim laughs breathlessly, bracing Pike's forearms as Pike locks his elbows against wobbling, as the flush floods his skin, sweat creeping down his spine and curling the hair around his temples. He just manages to ease himself from the boy's clinging body, to slump beside rather than onto him, and their arms wind up in a brief rubbery tangle before he tips over flat on his back. Red sparks crackle across the insides of his eyelids and his heart thuds triple time, Jim gasping a rushing tide in his ear as they decelerate together.

Eventually Pike smudges his hand dry against the sheet, watching the sparks fade into infrared invisibility, feeling the waves of heat pouring off Jim's skin like visible light. Eventually he's capable of considering what he's doing with a young man who has sex for a living; instead he opens his eyes to the white light from the pseudowindows and allows the boy's glowing skin and bright-eyed smirk to overwhelm his better judgement. Jim's arranged himself into a portrait of cheerful debauchery, one arm arched behind his head, and Pike's fingers itch to curve around his biceps and flatten over the planes of his chest.

So Pike shuts his eyes again, and with only the boy's glimmering afterimage and the warm lingering haze over his brain to contend with he can force thought through the viscous weight of desire. He's a little tempted to check Jim's skin for green undertones, but he watched that Human-red flush spill down the boy's translucent skin, can still taste the smoky caramel warmth of his mouth and the species-familiar tang of his sweat. "You can go if you want," Pike grits out, and doesn't let himself wonder what Jim would do if he weren't doing this.

"You kicking me out?" Jim shifts a little, and Pike can almost see the proverbial barn doors swinging open in a dusty wind. He swings his chin sideways, and Jim snickers through his nose as he reaches across, his hand passing a palpable millimeter above Pike's chest, and grasps Pike's wrist. "Then I don't want." He tugs Pike's hand over and presses it to the smooth dip of his breastbone.

Pike feels the boy's steady heartbeat pound against his palm, concedes a sigh and opens his eyes again, to the snowfall-pale light catching in Jim's tawny hair and the irresistible sparks in his Earth-blue eyes. "Why?" he asks, as if he isn't pushing his splayed hand up Jim's chest until his longest finger reaches the tender notch of Jim's throat, the others fanning out over sturdy collarbones and resilient skin.

Jim is pliant under Pike's touch, his hand looped around Pike's wrist in an easy simulation of trust, but his eyes narrow with reassuring skepticism. "Why'd you tell me to go?" His beautiful smile sharpens cruelly as he aligns his thigh to Pike's and adds, "When you know I know what you want."

Pike usually isn't as stupid as he almost is now, when he just barely catches himself before the rank hypocrisy of 'I wanted you to have a choice' falls out of his mouth. He grinds the heel of his hand down over Jim's nipple, watching those glittering eyes flicker but stay fixed on him, and stalls with, "What do I want?"

Jim eels even closer, and Pike feels all that damp warm skin pressed close to him, watches the boy's nose crinkle and the rippling bow of his upper lip. "A second helping of hot Jim with cream, of course." Pike snorts, helplessly amused, and pushes the boy onto his back, swings a leg across him and leans in for it.

Jim smirks against Pike's lips before shaping his mouth to the kiss; when his hands come up Pike catches them and pins them over his head to feel the resistant strength in those young wrists, those long wide hands as they curl tightly. Pike gets his knees beneath him and his tongue into Jim's mouth, and Jim sucks on it as he undulates, moaning low in his throat, half-hard and rising.

The kiss eventually breaks because they both need air, because Pike needs to watch Jim gasp and arch beneath him, lips red and gleaming wet, chin tipped up. Jim looks credibly needy for one breathtaking moment before he visibly gets hold of himself, tilting his chin further, drawing down his saturnine brows. Pike narrows his eyes in answer, taking in the strong arch of throat, the breadth of shoulders and tautly curved biceps, for as long as he can hold himself back before he plunges in again and bites down on the boy's edible pulse.

Jim hisses and jerks, shoving at Pike's hands, and Pike bears down and pushes back, pressing Jim's wrists into the mattress, sucking a pulsing red mark at the junction of Jim's neck and shoulder. Once more the thought flickers that Pike ought to feel like he's taking advantage, but Jim groans, lusciously open-throated, and Pike's conscience founders under a fresh wave of lust and sinks into irrelevance.

He bites down Jim's torso, warm resilient flesh under his teeth and loud eager moans echoing through his blood, and when he lets go of Jim's wrists they stay where they are. He drags his tongue flat across Jim's belly and the boy's answering buck pokes his cock against Pike's chin, so he swipes away the smear of precome left behind and sucks its salty savor off his fingers. Even though his mouth waters, he ignores that blatant temptation, instead sucking another mark over the quivering muscle of Jim's inner thigh, and Jim's strangled cry tingles down Pike's spine, his vibrant thrust makes Pike clutch his hips and hunger to swallow him whole.

But Pike opts to continue the line of bites downwards rather than up, fresh sweat tangy on his tongue, and Jim's wailed "Come the fuck on!" is intensely gratifying. "I'm not gonna beg," Jim grumbles reedily, as if he didn't just do so, and Pike lets himself laugh against the boy's knee.

Jim's calf fits alarmingly well into his hand, the boy shivers deliciously under his lips on the unmarked thigh. "What if I want you to beg?" Pike asks, and sucks hard enough to feel the skin bruising hot beneath his tongue.

Jim writhes, shouting a mouthful of familiar syllables that it takes Pike's hazed brain a moment to resolve into impressively accurate Andorian for, "_I intend to break your antennae off_." Pike snorts and bites another hickey into the pale hard thigh before him, and Jim sucks in a noisy breath and says, "No you don't either, don't -- fucking nngh -- gimme that." Pike hums inquiringly, prodding the boy with the tip of his nose, dizzy on his heady scent, and Jim flings both legs over his shoulders and puffs with breathless certainty, "You don't want some bitch to just--" Pike mouths the boy's ballsack, feeling it tighten against his lips as Jim makes a noise like he just swallowed his own tongue, hips twisting towards Pike, and doggedly continues, "j-just roll over. Not that easy. You wanna work for it."

This whole time, Jim's crossed wrists haven't budged, he's squirmed exactly as if Pike had tied him down, and Pike intended to reward them both by blowing him, anticipating the pleasant strain of lips and tongue and palate, the ways the boy would taste. But that last salvo hit uncomfortably near target, so when Jim huffs wordless triumph Pike shifts his tactics; he surges up over Jim, plants one hand within the crook of the boy's elbow and knocks his legs apart to press between them, watching his widening eyes belie his broad smirk. Jim tries to wrap a leg across Pike's back but he catches the boy's thigh and shoves it off, dragging his fingernails something like viciously over the hickeys he made and watching Jim's mouth quiver, wrapping his hand around Jim's dick and teasing the frenulum with his thumbtip until the boy's mouth falls open and his eyes roll back under fluttering lids. "How about I watch you work for it," Pike rumbles, dark heat in his voice, and the first noise out of Jim's mouth is a whimper.

The second is a snarl, as the boy braces his heels on Pike's thighs and drives into Pike's grip. Pike pulls long tight strokes in counterpoint to Jim's thrusts and watches his forehead crease, the gap vanish between his thick tawny brows, the way his wide-parted lips ripple around unsaid words. Jim arches further, voice sliding into keening, and Pike thinks he's about to say something smartassed but instead he lunges upwards, catching Pike's bottom lip in a startling bite. Sparks flame down Pike's nerves and he slams Jim's head back down in a fierce kiss, drinking in the boy's vibrating moans, twisting his hand until the boy shudders beneath him and cries out sharply with every spurt as he comes again.

It's not until Jim falls back gasping and Pike presses that tender upper lip between his as he lets the kiss break, until after Pike settles his head beside Jim's and watches the boy's face ease to painfully young smoothness as his chest heaves towards equilibrium, that he realizes how carefully that bite was calibrated, that his lip isn't bruised at all. Before he can think himself out of it, Pike kisses Jim's forehead as if he could measure his intelligence like a temperature.

Jim stiffens a little, and Pike pulls back. This boy isn't his... anything, not beyond the remnant of their allotted twelve hours, and his rational side suggests now would be a good time to let go.

But Jim doesn't move, just lies there with Pike in a sated sprawl of limbs. Pike swipes his hand on the wrecked sheet and settles it on Jim's chest, tugging him along as he shifts onto his side, and Jim shakes his arms out and drops one over Pike's, the other thrown out in front of him, drowsily pliant as he lets Pike hold him. Pike drags the blanket up and tucks their bodies close together, pressed to the warm breadth of Jim's back, the hard round of his ass; thinking drifting thoughts of fucking the boy again, of finding out why he's out here in the first place, Pike leans his cheek on Jim's damp redolent hair and closes his eyes.

*^*^*^*

  
Christopher Pike wakes, from the soundest sleep he's had in quite awhile, to an assortment of sensations: his stomach grumbling emptily, his arms folded around a big fluffy pillow, soft sounds of movement in the room beyond. Carefully maintaining his even breathing, he nuzzles the pillow as if shifting in sleep, hiding his face except for the eye he eases open.

Jim's still naked, damp-darkened hair flattened against his head. He steps up to the pseudowindow as he folds Pike's tunic, full of gamine grace and swagger even when he thinks he's unobserved, and as Pike's gaze skims over the boy's smooth muscular back he realizes he hasn't left any marks there yet. Then he notices his darkening thoughts, feels his welling desire, and if he dared he'd laugh self-mockingly at his own besotted musings.

Jim sets Pike's tunic with the rest of his clothes, neatly folded on one end of the plump little sofa. He glances back at Pike, who narrows his eye until his lashes fringe his sight with blurry rainbows, and holds up Pike's communicator, which is disguised for this incognito shoreleave as one of the drabber civilian models.

Pike's stomach sinks with unsurprised disappointment; what he doesn't expect is for Jim to say conversationally, "No, I didn't make any calls on your credit. It fell out of your pocket."

Trying and failing to be unimpressed that Jim can tell he's awake, Pike sits up and holds out his hand. "No one you could reach on that will talk to you anyway."

"Like I'd want to chat with some boring space bureaucrats." Jim turns, sneering as he lobs the communicator straight into Pike's palm and folds his arms. "A civilian shell on a Starfleet communicator? Weak."

Now Pike's surprised, and somewhat unsettled. He stands, feeling vulnerably naked for the first time since Jim peeled his clothes off him, ignoring his growling belly and the ornamental way the boy wears disdain; he moves to block the door, but Jim just smirks, apparently unconcerned. "I said nothing about Starfleet," Pike replies neutrally, returning Jim's challenging stare, examining this pretty boy for deeper motives than the provocation which seems to be his default. Cusack's been Pike's trusted yeoman for years, and this is Earth's system, basically home ground, but that just makes an ambush unlikely, not impossible.

"It's all over you, _Chris_." Jim says Pike's name like an alias, and he's not sure if that's reassuring or an even larger warning sign. "You're not a gawking tourist or a trader living it up." Pike lifts an eyebrow, humming the same inquisitive lilt he did between the boy's thighs, and knows he's gained ground when Jim's cheeks pinken and his chin lifts as he elaborates, "You walk like an 'authority figure'," with a scowl and audible quotation marks, "but you fuck like an overachiever."

Pike can't help but laugh at that, his unease dwindling to a hopefully prudent wariness as he strides towards the boy, knocks him back onto the couch and kisses him hard, the communicator rigid between his palm and Jim's bicep. "You always this mouthy?"

"When people like it, yeah." Jim grins obscenely wide as he wraps his arms around Pike's waist, shifting himself half into Pike's lap. "Twice as much when they don't." He smells clean and fresh, tinged with sharp-scented soap, his cheek smooth under Pike's knuckles, and Pike almost decides to haul him the rest of the way in and stay right here for a few hundred moments.

But he could also hose himself off and deal with his sandpapery cheeks, and his stomach helpfully reminds him that it could use a fill. So Pike disentangles himself and stands, saying, "I'm taking a shower. Do I need to bring you with me?"

"I could scrub your back," Jim offers, tipping his head back coquettishly, and Pike manages to restrain a laugh but has to surrender an amused snort. "Or I can dial up some food -- thinking of anything?"

"Nothing yet, but I'm willing to experiment." The boy gives Pike a hot look through his lashes, and he mostly manages not to react visibly despite the answering curl of heat inside him. "When I get out. For now, just try to stay out of trouble."

"Aye aye, sir," Jim answers, brows arched high and eyes bright despite his mouth's sardonic twist, and Pike carries that contradictory image and his comm into the bathroom.

He sets the latter down on the sink, considering the former. 'Sir' sounded disturbingly, alluringly fitting from Jim's mouth, and Pike thinks of his ensigns and crewmen, some of whom are no older than this beautiful boy, any of whom he could order to their deaths at need, none of whom he so much as pats on their shoulders. He looks at himself in the mirror, rumpled and unshaven against the clean white and green trim of the wall behind him, and tries not to find Jim's careless grace and quick intelligence reminiscent of anyone, dead or alive. He could probably get a decent voiceprint of the boy, send that up with a quick description for Cusack to cross-reference before they leave the sector, but that would rather violate the 'no last names' rule.

Even so, as Pike scrubs himself quickly and de-bristles his face he wonders what a boy this smart and brash is doing in a new settlement and an ancient line of work. Resolving not to be shy about being dressed to match his young host, he emerges to find Jim sitting on the crisply made bed.

Jim answers Pike's silently raised eyebrows with a cheeky, "Left my maid's uniform somewhere, but Kosari likes us to neaten up when we can."

"This outfit works for you," Pike says before he thinks, too dazzled by the grinning boy on the tautly neat expanse of bed.

Jim gets up and brushes a casual kiss across Pike's mouth as he moves to the replicator. "So, what'll you have?"

"Surprise me, and get something for yourself as well." Settling onto the couch, Pike watches Jim's long fingers on the input pad and doesn't even believe his own rationalization of wariness. Jim returns with a tray of mostly Mid-North American specialties enlivened by Andorian salinah soup and tall mugs of golden lager, which he sets on Pike's knees as he sinks gracefully to his own. Pike peers at him, feeling uncomfortably like an enthroned ruler attended by his catamite, and gestures to Jim to start eating.

The boy sets to with a teenager's ravenousness, and Pike sips his tangy orange soup and watches Jim's long throat bob enticingly as he swallows, turning questions over in his mind. When Jim's halfway through a supposed beef sandwich Pike takes a long sip of the fizzy replicated beer and asks, "Jim, what are you doing here?"

Jim looks up at him with a raised eyebrow and a full mouth, chewing busily until he can swallow and say, "Showing you a good time."

"Which you have, excellently." Pike takes another tart sip, malt popping in bubbles on his tongue, and sets the mug down. Jim chews with determination, as if he can outwait having to answer, and Pike works to keep his voice mild. "But I mean, out here on Triton."

Jim glances sideways at Pike, eyes narrowed and wary even when he swallows and smiles. "The adventure, of course!" he says, doing a pretty solid imitation of a carefree tone. "These are the furthest civilian settlements in the Sol system, and this moon's a scientific curiosity. I've got nowhere I need to be, so I thought I'd take a look." Pike nods, swabbing out the soupbowl with a piece of bread as he considers this explanation. It sounds plausible, though judging by Jim's unsmiling eyes there's more to the story; however, that's not actually any of Pike's business, he reminds himself, no matter how canny and audacious this boy is, nor how young.

Then Jim's eyes tighten further, glittering as his smile widens to toothy insincerity, and he adds, "But what you really wanna know is why I'm peddling my ass for a living, right?"

Pike doesn't choke on his mouthful, doesn't let himself twitch under Jim's expectantly defiant gaze. He swallows, tilts his head and answers, "I asked why you're on Triton, and you told me. I'm in Starfleet, I can understand the lure of the frontier."

Jim laughs at that, closing his eyes, but when they open again they've thawed, there's honest humor in his face as he says, "You're from mid-North America, right? The States? Canada? If that's a Wild West reference, I think you just called me a saloon girl."

Pike gives in and laughs. "Don't put words in my mouth," he chides, and sees how tense Jim's shoulders were by how they relax. "Have you gone out on the surface?"

"Lots of times." Jim's chest puffs a little, and now the enthusiasm's real. "That's why I quit the internship, they wouldn't let -- well, anyway." He gives his head a careless toss like he didn't just say more than he meant, wariness back in his eyes and tightening his mouth; Pike restrains the eyebrow that wants to lift, breathing as carefully as he would around a skittish colt, and Jim stares at him a moment longer and doesn't, metaphorically, bolt. "I've got a suit down at the West Airlock, and, hey, if I talk to Eddy and Thelin for you I bet I can get you a deal on a rental."

"That sounds good," Pike replies slowly as Jim radiates eagerness, "but I'm not sure I should go out on the surface with you." Jim's bright smile starts to fade. "It might all be a ploy to get your hands on my communicator."

Jim gapes indignantly as Pike grins at him, then shakes his head and chuckles, and smirks as he looks up again. "Whatever you want, Chris, just finish your lunch. I want to get that tray off your lap and out of my way."

Pike blinks in pleased shock, and complies.

*^*^*^*

  
In the end, they don't venture out onto the surface of Triton. They discuss it -- Jim flips a seamless panel in the wall to reveal a console, pulls up maps of the catenae and the cantaloupe terrain, and all but bounces as he points out where he's explored on his own and where he's guided visitors. Meanwhile, Pike keeps himself from asking why Jim's not one of the Minor Planet Center's tour guides; instead he tells the boy a story about a mission complicated by a malfunctioning suit, and Jim impresses him with a faster solution than the one he implemented. They contemplate the hiking trails around Tritonia Two and what notable landmarks they could reach using a rental sled in the time they have left, until Jim suggests with bright mischievous eyes that Pike lengthen his stay, and Pike opens his mouth to decline and presses it to Jim's instead.

They end up going nowhere but back to bed, and Jim falls asleep afterwards, boneless under Pike's arm. He watches the boy breathing, his muscle-veneered ribs rising and falling, his lips soft with unconsciousness, his purpled eyelids trembling with dreams. He imagines Jim in a cadet's uniform and tries to despise himself for it, for the hypocrisy of wanting to interfere in this boy's life while availing himself of his willingness. Tries and fails, but the spiraling fight with himself brings on a headache and the warm postcoital grogginess drags him down until he dozes.

Some indeterminate time later Pike jerks awake when Jim sits up, gasping, "Oh, shit, sorry." The pseudowindows have dimmed to approximate nighttime, and Pike looks up at Jim's openmouthed dismay in the softened illumination, like moonlight reflected on snow. "I totally crashed, I'm sorry about that."

"It's all right." Pike pats Jim's thigh, trying for soothing rather than prurient. He's pretty sure the boy's drained him dry at this point. "I enjoyed your company anyway."

"What, because I had my trap shut for once?" Shadowed and outlined in silver, Jim's smile is softer than the smirk Pike might have expected. "I just meant to get you out on the surface before you had to leave, since you actually give a damn about it." He shrugs carelessly, the patently false dismissiveness raising an ache deep in Pike's chest. "You want anything?"

Pike catches Jim's wrist. "When was the last time someone asked what you wanted?"

Jim's eyebrows lift as he regards Pike like he just spoke in an incomprehensible language. "Um. I don't know quite how to tell you, but--"

"Not often in your line of work, I know." Pike feels his mouth twist. "But I'm asking now, Jim. What do you want?" Jim's eyes are as clear and deep a blue as the ultramarine planet on Triton's far side, as he looks at Pike for a long moment and Pike steadily returns his gaze.

Then Jim smiles, sweet and breathtaking. "Next time I get out on the surface I'll think about where I would've taken you," he says, twisting his wrist in Pike's grip in order to mesh their fingers together. "For now..." He leans down, licking his lips, swinging a leg across Pike's hips. "I want to make you come again."

Pike sighs, propping himself on his elbows. He'd honestly believed that smile. "Jim..."

"No, really," Jim says, earnestness in his glinting eyes, his lower lip glistening wet. "I -- I'm not actually bullshitting you right now." He disentangles their fingers and wraps them around Pike's wrist, catches his other hand, leans forward a little. His eyebrows draw down as the corners of his mouth draw up, and he doesn't look so much earnest now as positively wicked. "If I just say it you won't believe me, so let me show you."

"I don't think that's going to work, not yet," Pike admits, as Jim presses his wrists down at his sides, as Jim nips the base of his throat and flicks a soft tongue across the throbbing bite. "Good job, but--" Jim bites his nipple, sending sparks of pain and pleasure arcing down his nerves, stopping the breath in his throat. "I can't--"

"Oh yes you can," Jim growls, buzzing over his sternum, and Pike falls back against the bed, The boy was never submissive, but now when he pushes Pike's wrists down and lets go they don't move. Jim presses Pike into the bed with biting kisses and strong hands, and Pike doesn't push back; he breathes through a sharp bite to his other nipple, the thrill accelerating his heartbeat out of relaxation, and observes what the boy can do.

He could roll Jim off him, Pike thinks, shuddering as the boy trails fingers and tongue down his ribs and belly, licking whorls into his hair, breathing hot over his skin. Jim bites his hip and he gasps, picturing that bright-tawny head, those challenging blue eyes, and he knows he could push himself up and look, he could curl over Jim and grab him by the ears. But Pike doesn't move, his arms still by his sides, his legs akimbo, feet planted flat on the mattress. Jim's determination blankets him like a physical force, stronger than those long hands tight around his hips, and his own answering arousal wells inexorably through the lingering haze of satisfaction.

Jim takes him in nearly to the base, not coyly, not teasingly, and Pike tips his head back, exhaling a pleasure-edged sigh under the rippling wet heat of Jim's mouth and the plush silky ring of his lips. He feels himself fill and harden as if Jim's sucking the blood into his dick, currents of electricity glimmering into spate beneath his skin, and Jim chuckles a quiver into him, scrapes sparks with his teeth and slides clever seeking fingers beneath his balls. Jim presses two knuckles firmly under them, and when the answering pulse of pleasure knocks out a moan Pike can't quite restrain, Jim makes a muffled triumphant noise, swallows hard and pushes another finger against him, just to be felt, not to breach.

Pike's hips twitch up with all the force the rest of his body has momentarily yielded, and Jim pins them a little more securely, tucking his thumb in the hollow as he keeps up the pressure, sucking rhythmically. The answering pulses rise in intensity but seem to slow, Pike's breath stuttering deeper and also seeming to decelerate as if time's stretching, drawn out like every tautening fiber of his body under the tug of Jim's mouth. Pike feels himself nudge the back of Jim's throat, trembling and suspended, pucker crackling under that steady push, heartbeat rising to a crescendo in his tingling ears. He feels Jim gasping through his nose, each ripple and flick of tongue, every tightening press of lips, and the answering throbs arc down his livewire nerves.

Then Jim swallows around him again, a stroking flutter of muscle, and Pike gasps and shudders as time lurches forward with his accelerating heart, dragging him into a freefall of spiraling sensation. He has just enough time to feel the orgasm bearing down on him, to groan, "_Jim--_," but Jim shoves himself down even further and keeps swallowing over and over until Pike goes up in an endless pulse of clear red fire, surging through his body, sheeting across the insides of his eyelids.

This one hollows Pike out, leaves him emptied of everything but echoing pleasure and dizzy satisfaction. Dimly and distantly through the roar in his ears he hears Jim pull off with a theatrical smack of lips, feels the boy's hands slide in slow circles on his belly as he gasps his way back to something like consciousness. Jim makes a sound like a swallowed cough and Pike feels purpose finally wash back into his lax body, reaching for the boy as he starts to push himself up to sitting.

Jim meets Pike and knocks him flat, grabs his shoulders and kisses him lushly; he tastes bitter-salty as might be expected, spicing it with a sharp little bite as he backs off a little. When Pike gets his eyes open it takes a moment to make them focus on Jim's puffy red mouth pulled into a sideways smirk, on his shadowed eyes gone soft and deep enough to drown in.

It takes Pike another few moments to stop staring dumbstruck. In fact, he hasn't quite pulled his face back under control before Jim slumps onto him, heavy and warm, sleek and young and, this time, not hard. Pike loops his arm across Jim's back as the boy murmurs into his neck, "I bet they don't ask you, either."

Pike almost asks 'What?' before his own words echo through his dazed brain. He sinks his hand into Jim's hair as he answers, "These days they mostly wait for me to tell them. Or they tell me what they think I want to hear."

Jim nods, shifting his arm a little across Pike's belly, and for awhile they both just breathe.

*^*^*^*

  
They do eventually make it as far as one of the hotel restaurants. Jim produces a soft white shirt, fitted blue trousers and dark seamed boots that are simple, fairly modest, and yet fit like giftwrap on a particularly nice present. He straightens his open v-collar so it frames the red bruise on his throat, and Pike feels hs face distinctly heat, all the more when Jim winks at him and leads the way to the place Pike let him recommend.

It's pleasant, quiet and not even particularly expensive, the dining room scattered with pairs and trios of respectable-looking sentients, about two thirds of them Human and most of the rest from nearby systems. A few are very pretty young adults wearing soft understated outfits and dining with distinctly older partners, but everyone radiates calm propriety, even Jim, who looks like a polite and reserved young man but for his sparkling eyes and that red mark glowing against his collar. He chitchats through their breakfast, silently laughing at Pike with his eyes, and Pike narrows his, stops trying to guess Jim's coworkers, and practices his own reception manners in return.

Afterwards, as Jim leads Pike back to the room, they pass a lovely azure-skinned Andorian girl in the hall, her ice-white hair falling to her waist in tendrils over her skin-blue dress. Pike catches Jim's wink at her, the subtle tilt of her lips in reply; she flicks cool, assessing eyes across Pike as her smile widens invitingly, and he nods and thinks Kosari chose well for him from evidently stunning possibilities.

The door shuts, and Jim turns to Pike with a wide smile and both hands extended. "So, Chris, our time's nearly up," he says smoothly, a rote speech he's obviously delivered before. "I hope you've enjoyed your stay with us, and if there's anything I can do to leave a good last impression, please let me know."

"Jim," Pike says, sitting down for this, "I do have a question." He pats the bed beside him and Jim's eyes go wary as he sits, though his smile holds. "Why are you working here?"

Jim's eyebrows crinkle downwards. "Kosari's a fair boss, and she doesn't tell me what to do with my time off." Blowing out a gusty breath, he tips his head back to regard Pike head-on, eyes brilliant and distrustful. "Who should I work for, _Chris_?"

Not where, but who, Jim asks, laying an opening as inviting as any trap. Pike returns his level stare and can't think in this moment of any lead-in that Jim won't laugh to scorn. Instead he stalls for time to maneuver by offering, "You probably know Triton's job prospects better than I do. I just wonder why you came all this way to work as an attendant."

"Why do you care?" Jim's narrowed eyes glitter as he smirks, nothing like a smile. "Got a complaint about my job performance?"

"Your performance is exemplary," Pike says crisply, and watches Jim's eyes soften a little, presses his hands flat to the bed rather than reaching to touch his cheek. "And you're an intriguing young man."

Jim tightened eyebrows say "Bullshit" with absolute wordless clarity, and Pike can't help smiling; Jim's face softens into a matching smile, and Pike might be flattering himself but he thinks he sees this one reach the boy's eyes. "I knew you wouldn't drop it," Jim mutters, shaking his head. "Okay," he says, with the air of a man surrendering a pawn to protect his king, and Pike fleetingly wonders about the boy's chess game. "My stepdad lined up an internship for me, to get me back -- to get me out into space. It's nothing like another star system, but baby steps, he said." Jim grimaces, and Pike knew before now that this boy's not the type for gradual measures. "You don't have time for the long story; the short one is that everything fell through. Stepdad was pissed, said I couldn't take care of myself, that I was still just the -- just a kid. So." Jim shrugs. "I figured I'd stay on Triton, get a job like a _responsible adult_ and stuff." Jim squares his shoulders and straightens his neck, halfway to parade rest and radiating defiance.

"Well, this is definitely a grown-up job," Pike observes mildly, and watches a hot blush bloom in Jim's cheeks, his lush lips thin into a tight line.

Just for a moment, though, before the corners of his mouth sharpen as he says, "Isn't it a bit late for you to worry about that after fucking me up the ass twice?" The boy has a point. "Speaking of which, man, do you exclusively top? Not that I'm complaining."

Pike opens his mouth, watches Jim's grin widen to gleaming, and shuts it again, inhales deeply through his nose and says, "No. But we can discuss that another time. Jim--" who blinks, opening his eyes wider as something shuts behind them, spurring Pike forward before it locks. "Jim, you love space. Starfleet needs explorers like you."

"I didn't think Starfleet had room for stray puppies and cabin boys." Jim flicks his gaze ostentatiously towards the chrono in the wall.

"We don't, _Jim_." The rims of his ears prickling with heat, Pike hardens his voice. "You could be a scientist, an officer. You could--"

Jim slams to his feet, a flash of anger in his eyes as he struggles to maintain his pleasant expression. "No thanks." He looks like Pike offered to make him a kept boy, not help him enlist in the opportunity of a lifetime.

"I'm thinking of your head, boy, not your tail," Pike snaps. "I won't even see you on Earth, I've got three years left on my mission." Jim opens his mouth, so Pike keeps pushing the momentum, gesturing to the plush little room. "Yes, you're good at this. Very good. But in Starfleet you could be great."

"No, _thank you._" Jim steps back, offering a sweet smile like a consolation prize. "It's been great, Chris, but I've gotta run."

Pike's had more disastrous recruiting efforts. Maybe. Sometime. "At least let me give you my contact--"

"No last names, remember?" Jim angles away from Pike, looking down the line of his arm, remote and untouchable. Pike could probably grab and pin him but he won't reach him, not tonight.

Jim's smile shifts into something closer to real, and he leans down and brushes his mouth softly across Pike's, one final time. "Thanks, though," the boy says and turns away, walking out the door, leaving Pike with tingling lips and a belated realization: Jim took his stepfather's scolding as a dare.

*^*^*^*

  
Captain Pike watches cadets and other pretty young things circulate in a bar on the edge of Riverside Shipyards, thinking idly about one particular pretty young thing he once met. A few weeks ago the combination of maudlin nostalgia, the frustrating docility of the current crop of recruits, and George Kirk's broad smile in his holovid collection prompted Pike to drop a line to Kosari out on Triton.

She's still there, charming as ever; it was disquieting how little a Starfleet officer awed her as they traded messages over his request for information on one of her employees from four years ago. When she finally convinced him she really has no record of any Terrans named 'Jim', and too many Terran boys to scan through their files, not to mention her convenient habit of purging her visual catalogue, Pike had to swallow over a lump of disappointment he's still trying to digest, has to hope that sunny, indomitable boy went on to something worthwhile.

He's still musing along those lines when several cadets and civilians charge out of the barroom on a burst of shouts and crashes, stammering reports of a fight centered around a townie in serious, 'Fleet-smearing trouble. Pike strides through the door and stops everyone cold with a sharp whistle, looks down at the bloody young man draped backwards over a table, and tilts his head as he recognizes those dazed but insouciant blue eyes.


End file.
